


If I Could Only Fly

by ladymelodrama



Category: Small Engine Repair (2006)
Genre: Epilogue, F/M, Post-Script, and recognizes talent when she sees it, don't name your minor characters unless you want me to write fanfics like this, girl who likes music, soft boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymelodrama/pseuds/ladymelodrama
Summary: An epilogue for this sad-but-sweet Irish movie about a soft boy with a soulful voice <3
Relationships: Doug Foley/Melanie
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	If I Could Only Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Douuuuuuuuuuug <3 The boy is soooo soft, it's ridiculous. And hey, I liked the movie just as it is. See ya never, Bill and Agnes. But I'm a fanfic writer and this is what I do (take a 10 second scene between two characters and build a ship out of it 😂).
> 
> Much thanks to salzrand, for recommending this film forever ago and then accidently reminding me that I hadn't watched it yet 🙈 I'm in loveeeeeeeeeee.
> 
> And oh, how fancy. First fic of the fandom. *grabs a trashy magazine, takes the comfy chair*
> 
> P.S. The title of the fic is that pretty song that Doug (Iain Glen) sings in the film - go listen. Go now.

Doug’s been beaten down by life too many times and it shows. It’s weathered the lines on his face and made him wary of good fortune. He’s been a timber boy stuck in this cold, muddy town for too long. The dream of making music was always just that—a dream.

Even with everything that’s happened these last few weeks, he’s struggling to believe that anything’s ever going to change. 

And he doesn’t know if _half_ of what that record man was saying—studio sessions, recording contracts, albums—will come to anything. The man seemed pleased with what he saw at the gig last night but Doug’s sure he’ll rethink it once he remembers that there are dozens of new acts around, more every day. 

All younger, with better luck and greater talents. 

The record man wants him to visit his offices in Cork and talk more. It’s a lot to take in and he’s starting to think this is all some sort of joke. Maybe Burley worked this all out as some twisted sort of revenge? But nah, Eddie wouldn’t be in on it, if that were the case. So it must be real. 

Still…

Doug doesn’t mind a little hope now and again, but this feels like too much at once. He’s still reeling from the revelations of last night and he’s unused to anything but bad luck.

So as he leaves The Hideout, he’s starting to feel all those familiar doubts creep up on him. His expression goes a little grey, matching the weather. He overthinks, dwelling on less than pleasant things.

Things Agnes has said to him in the past. Bill too. Both of them have always viewed him the same, he knows that now. Should’ve seen the similarities between them earlier and how those similarities might…forge some sort of…

He doesn’t want to think on any of that now. His chest pains him a little and he’s tempted to go back into the bar and get Eddie to pour him a drink. But it’s too early in the day and the bar’s not technically open. Besides, the record man is still in there and Doug doesn’t want to ruin whatever tolerable first impression he’s managed to make.

_Not that it’ll do any good. Jesus, Doug, do you honestly think this will go anywhere?_

His doubts are speaking up louder with each step he takes, spoken in Bill’s voice first, then Agnes. Then both of them, _together_. He tries not to focus on that last thought, as he’s done a fine job at distracting himself so far, keeping his mind on last night’s gig and this morning’s prospects. Isn’t that why he’s putting this distance between himself and Bill?

To figure out how to forgive his mate—is that possible? Maybe someday. Maybe not. But he’ll need time, no matter what. If only to let this heavy, dull pain in his chest subside. 

God, it feels like somebody put an anvil there and he’s slowly feeling his lungs crush in on themselves. 

_Best not tell your record man that._ Agnes’s voice purrs through his head, before taking a long drag on her cheap cigarette, disapproving eyes flashing at him like he’s failed already. 

Before he’s even tried. 

Oh, maybe he shouldn’t try? What good is it to hope for something more? He’s tempted to turn back and tell Eddie and the record man to just call the whole thing off.

But then… 

“Mr. Foley!” comes a woman’s light, soprano voice, calling out just behind him. 

He turns at his name, stopping in the middle of the street, to see a young brunette hurrying down the steps of the bar. She wraps the ends of her scarf around her neck, looping it once, before thrusting her hands deep into her jacket pockets and shivering just a little on the chilly breeze that hits her as soon as she leaves the bar stoop. 

It’s nippy out. Autumn’s early this year. It feels like a sign, and not a good one.

Doug recognizes her immediately. She was at the bar last night during the gig, sitting in the audience, watching him play. And…no, he knows her from somewhere else too, doesn’t he? Yeah. Jesse Gold’s assistant, that’s it. The missing receptionist. She’s the one who took his demo tape that day he and Bill took a chance and showed up at Jesse’s station without invitation, on a stupid lark.

_Leave it with me and I’ll see that he gets it…_

Melanie. He remembers her name without any trouble. It’s a nice, sweet-sounding name. It’s the name Jesse Gold introduced Doug’s first radio play with—

_My assistant Melanie keeps raving about this demo…_

“Yeah?” he asks, friendly, as always, but a little confused on why she’s flagging him down. 

He wonders what she wants. He noticed her come into The Hideout when he was in there with the record man and saw Eddie retrieve her card from behind the bar. She settled up with him, apparently having forgotten to close her tab the night before.

“Hey, I just wanted to tell you…,” she begins, once she’s close enough for him to hear. She’s a slip of a girl and he finds himself looking down nearly a foot to meet her gaze. She’s got objectively pretty eyes though, so it’s not a hard thing to do. 

When she reaches him, she pauses for a beat. She looks like she might be thinking twice about whatever she’s about to say, but then she shakes her head stubbornly (at herself?) and seems to decide to say it anyway, “Don’t listen blindly to what that man from Timberland tells you, y’know? He’ll go on about how you’ll make buckets of cash or has connections to set up a gig at some fancy joint—those types always do. And that’s fine, but watch out when he starts talking commissions. He’ll know you’re new to this and…just remember _you’ve_ got the voice. Not him.”

“You think he’s trying to swindle me already?” Doug gives a dark chuckle of self-deprecation, thinking she’s confirming his worst doubts. And he’s too easily remembering Burley’s cruel words in the yard the night before. 

_Everyone feels sorry for you, Doug. They all think you’re a joke._

Did this woman too? Oh, but he didn’t even know her.

“No, nothing like that,” Melanie replies quickly, shaking her head and taking a breath. The morning air is cold enough to see white puffs escaping with her words. “I just…and don’t take this the wrong way, all right? But I don’t think you realize how good you are.”

He blinks on the compliment. Mostly because her tone is so matter-of-fact. She’s looking up at him plainly. And she’s got enough confidence in her smooth voice that it makes it seem like it _must_ be true, which is…nonsense. But he wants to believe it, despite himself. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, shifting his stance and gaze dropping down to his work boots.

“I mean it,” she says, taking a hand out of her pocket to reach forward and lay it on his forearm briefly. She does it to pull his gaze back up. It works, as the touch is wholly unexpected and takes him by surprise.

Melanie’s brown hair is catching the morning sunlight, all those pale strands of gold that somehow cut through the grey. It gives the wavy strands a richer color out here in the street than in a shadowy bar or even Jesse Gold’s studio. The color catches Doug’s eye a little more than it should. Her dark brown eyes too, snapping on her next words, and the little half-smirk and shrug that comes with it. She says, “I wouldn’t have forced Jesse to play that tape otherwise.”

Is she flirting with him or just being nice? Doug is so out of practice at that sort of thing that he hardly knows. Not that he was ever good at it, even before Agnes. He assumes the latter. But he tries to remember if she was with somebody at the bar last night. 

He doesn’t know. But if she was, he isn’t with her now.

“I’ve been wanting to thank you for doing that,” he allows, stumbling over the words just enough that he feels his cheeks go a little hot. He hopes his beard hides the blush that he knows is flooding his cheeks. 

If Melanie notices, she doesn’t say anything about it. At his words, her smile goes a little wider, a little softer. She tells him, “It was no trouble. You’ve got a beautiful voice, Mr. Foley.”

“Doug,” he corrects her, before he can think twice.

“Doug,” she repeats, nodding on his given name, seemingly pleased that he gives it freely. “And I’m Melanie, by the way.” 

“Yeah, I know,” he answers, as if it’s been on his mind for some time. But it hasn’t. _She_ hasn’t. Not until this very moment.

“Anyway…,” she slips her hand off his arm slowly, perhaps realizing it’s lingered there a hair too long. She doesn’t seem embarrassed by the gesture though and just tips her head, taking a slow, lithe step back the way she came, towards a parked compact car just outside The Hideout. 

As she walks away, she turns back once, just to make her point clear, “Remember that you’re the one with the voice—you’re the one that can make _them_ money, not the other way round.”

“I’ll remember,” he replies immediately, compelled to keep that smile on her face, if he can. His simple words, more confident than usual, do the job. Her grin lingers even as she turns away from him a second time.

He’s in a strange sort of daze as he walks back to the truck. The doubts that he had as he walked out of the bar are nowhere to be found. The specter of Bill’s voice, the familiar image of Agnes’s disapproving glare—it’s all gone. His mind is spinning, but on thoughts he can’t quite pin down. 

And none of them unpleasant.

“What was that about?” Tony asks, when Doug rejoins him. Doug slips into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition, shrugging, shaking his head, not knowing exactly how to answer the boy in the bench seat beside him.

“Ah, Melanie from Jesse Gold’s?” he answers, absently looking up and across the street as he speaks her name. 

She’s reached her car and is opening the driver’s side door. But she’s looked back again, at the same moment, to find his gaze once more. She gives a little wave and another smile crosses those lips, an unreadable but amused look in her pretty, dark eyes. 

Doug swallows, but manages to grin back, caught up in…something. 

As he watches Melanie duck into her car, he answers Tony only in afterthought, with a little wonder coloring his tone, “She wanted to wish me luck.”


End file.
